


Odd One Out

by AthenaBean



Category: Clone High
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 13,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaBean/pseuds/AthenaBean
Summary: When your family makes you move to Exclamation and attend Clone High, you're more than a little upset, but things start to turn around for you when another student takes an interest in you.
Relationships: JFK (Clone High) x Reader, JFK x reader, JFK/Reader
Comments: 75
Kudos: 216





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I try to make this a balance of fluff and actual plot. Never meant it to get so long, but I had too many ideas, so have them all. You're welcome.
> 
> If you enjoy this fic, please feel free to leave a comment. I read them all, and they make me very happy :)
> 
> Also, although this fic is M/F, I fully embrace the fact that JFK is a bi king, so if you don't like that please leave. Thx.

Bland and flat. Those were the only two words that your brain could conjure up as you sat slumped in the backseat of the car, squinting out the window at the trash-scape outside. You were squished beside a heap of bags and boxes and could feel a cardboard corner jabbing you in the side.

Moving away was the last thing you had wanted. Your old town was just right, full of people you cared about and the school you had grown familiar with. It had never been perfect, but it had been home.

Why did your dad have to get a new job? It wasn’t fair to make you pick up and leave everything you cared about. Couldn’t he have kept his old job at home? What was in Exclamation that wasn’t at home?

You scowled, glaring at the rolling suburbs outside. Every house looked the same, with a postage stamp patch of grass. God, it was boring.

You lost yourself for a moment in bitter thoughts, only jostled back to the real world when the car rolled into a driveway beside a house.

It was a boxy beige building with a scraggly patch of yard and several shriveled rose bushes in the front.

You stepped out of the car, peering down the road. To one side was a line of houses identical to yours. To the other side was an enormous building surrounded by trees and a grassy lawn. The building itself was gray and orange and had a bizarre geometric shape. It was the ugliest thing you’d ever seen.

“That’s your school,” said your mom, pointing at it. “Clone High. It’s supposed to be very prestigious. You should read up on it online, check out their website maybe.”

_ What a bizarre name for a school _ , you thought to yourself. You didn’t even want to think about going to Clone High, full of strangers and unfamiliar places. You already had a school, and it was back home.

With a huff, you grabbed your bags and trudged inside, marching yourself immediately up the stairs to find your new room.


	2. 2

Your arms were heavy with exhaustion. You had been loading boxes and furniture into the house for hours, and had just finished setting up your bedroom. It didn’t feel right seeing all your things in this foreign new place, nor did it feel right to see a monotonous suburban hellscape outside of your window instead of your old street. Everything felt wrong, and you could feel loneliness and isolation crowding you from all sides.

You weren’t sure if it was to distract you from your thoughts or to prepare you for the coming school year, but you found yourself plopping onto your bed with your laptop and searching up “Clone High Exclamation USA.”

_ Very prestigious _ , your mom had said.  _ Check out their website _ . Fine then, maybe you would.

The moment you saw the site’s cover image, you thought for sure there’d been a joke. A group of teenagers stood together in a typical stock-photo-like pose, but something was off about the students.

You had the strangest feeling that you recognized these people, and the longer you looked, the more it dawned on you. Searching the image closely, you saw Frida Kahlo, Amelia Earhart, Martin Luther King, and someone you could have sworn was Shakespeare. The longer you looked, the more famous faces you saw. But these weren’t the faces as you remembered them. They were younger and brighter, dressed in contemporary clothes, and many of them had cheeks and foreheads that were speckled with acne. Below them was a slogan: “Clone High: Where the bright minds of history build a brighter tomorrow.”

At this point, you weren’t sure if the site was some sort of elaborate joke, so you scoured Google for some other site about the school, but there was none to be found. Flummoxed, you returned back to the site, and after reading several paragraphs about the school’s mission, you realized with astonishment that no, this wasn’t some bizarre prank, and yes, the students at Clone High were actual clones of famous people, genetically copied and raised to be the geniuses of the future.

There had to be some mistake then, since you were neither a clone nor a genius, and you certainly didn’t look like anyone who had ever made history. Something was very wrong here, and you knew one thing for sure: you shouldn’t be attending Clone High.


	3. 3

It had been two weeks since you tried to convince your family to let you go to another school, but to no avail. Clone High was right next to your house, and apparently quite prestigious, and no matter how much you begged to attend someplace else, your family wouldn’t budge.

After fourteen days of agonizing worry, the first day of school rolled itself around the corner and sent your stomach turning in knots. You had tossed around awake all that night, and although you should have felt exhausted in the morning, your body had decided to replace the exhaustion with a deep queasiness in the pit of your stomach. This made it impossible to eat more than a bite of breakfast before you shuffled out the door.

As you watched other students make their way to school along with you, your backpack felt like solid iron on your spine, and you were thoroughly aware of every moment that someone’s eyes passed over you. Sure, you seemed to be relatively inconspicuous now, but you couldn’t stand to think of how many people would be staring at you when the whole school found out that you were the only one who wasn’t born in a lab.

Hoping to shut out a bit of the world around you, you stared at your feet as you plodded up the front steps and into the building.

The inside, surprisingly, looked like any other high school, with tan lockers, linoleum tiled floors, and students standing around chatting while they waited for the bell. As you passed them, you could feel their eyes follow you, and you heard people whisper, “Who’s that? I don’t recognize her. Who do you think her clone parent is?” You could feel your palms begin to sweat. You fixed your eyes firmly on the floor, hoping to avoid eye contact with anyone who was thinking of asking you questions.

You should have expected that staring at your feet would result in you colliding with things, but with your nerves tying themselves in knots, it somehow didn’t cross your mind until you slammed directly into an open locker door.


	4. 4

“Er, uh, missy. Can I er, help you?”

You blinked and rubbed your head. You could feel a bruise forming, and your books were scattered on the floor.

“Er, hello? Missy?"

You looked up dazedly. Standing with a hand outstretched to you was a boy in a red polo shirt. His hair was combed to a gravity-defying height, and he wore an expression that suggested he was a little unsure of what to say. His face seemed oddly familiar, but you couldn’t quite place who he looked like. After a second or two, you took his hand and let him help you up. For a moment, he squinted at your face as if trying to figure something out.

“Hey,” he said, in what you now realized was a thick Boston accent. “You’re new, aren't ya?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I just moved in. My name is [y/n]. Sorry I bumped into your locker.”

“Well, er, uh,” he said with a wink, “you and me can do a little  _ bump _ and  _ grind _ anytime you like, if you catch my meaning.”

You blinked in surprise, too taken aback to know what to say. Your cheeks started to feel hot.

“Er, uh, or we could just get a milkshake,” he said hurriedly, seeing how flustered you were. He bent down and picked up your books. “I’m John F. Kennedy, by the way, but er, the dames call me JFK,” he said, handing you your books. So  _ that’s _ who he looked like!

“Oh, um, thank you, JFK,” you said, taking your books. “Gosh, you really do look just like him.”

“So, er, how about that milkshake, huh?” he said, grinning.

“Um, sure,” you said, shrugging, “why not?”

“I’ll, er, uh, see you after school, then,” he said, grinning. “Be here at two.”

“Gotcha,” you said, as the bell rang. “Oh, by the way, could you tell me how to get to Mr. Sheepman’s class?”

“Come with me,” he said, putting an arm on your shoulder and steering you down the hall.


	5. 5

“Now, class, who can describe to me what is going on in this diagram?” Twenty pairs of eyes studied the floor intently, while twenty pairs of hand fiddled uncomfortably in twenty laps.

“Anyone? Does anyone know?” Not one hand in the twenty pairs was raised.

You felt a gentle ping against the back of your skull. Turning around, you saw JFK grinning, and nodding his head towards a spot on the floor. Following his gaze, you noticed a tiny paper ball under your chair. You twisted around in your seat and picked it up. Unrolling it, you saw a drawing of a sheep with a cartoonishly angry face, holding a pointer in one hoof. Coming out of the sheep’s backside was a cloud, clearly meant to represent a fart. It was by far the dumbest drawing you had ever seen, but that was why you couldn’t help but chuckle at it.

“Ah, [y/n], I suppose you can answer the question then?” said Mr. Sheepman irritably.

“Oh, um, no, Mr. Sheepman,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the answer.”

“Well then,” said Mr. Sheepman with malice in his voice, “perhaps you’d do well to pay attention in class, instead of passing notes. Care to share with the class what you found so entertaining?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Sheepman,” you said hurriedly. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry I got distracted. It won’t happen again.”

“No, [y/n],” Mr. Sheepman insisted, “I’m sure the class would love to know what was so important it couldn’t wait until after class. Why don’t you show us?”

“Mr. Sheepman,” you said, panic mounting, “I’m sorry I disrupted your class. I won’t cause any more trouble, I swear. It’s really noth-”

Before you could finish your sentence, Mr. Sheepman had plucked the note from your hands and was studying it carefully. After a moment, he glared at you.

“Did you draw this?” he said quietly. You didn’t answer. 

“ _Did you draw this?_ ” he said again, more forcefully this time. You stared at the floor, silently studying the tiles beneath your feet.

“Alright then,” said Mr. Sheepman tartly, “You can bring this note with you on your way to Principal Scudworth’s office.”

Your heart began to pound. First day of school and already a meeting with the principal? The whole school would be talking about you, and your parents were sure to be furious.

“Er, Uh, Mr. Sheepman,” said a voice from behind you. You turned around to see JFK standing up, looking defiant. “I, er, uh, I drew that.”

“Did you now?” said Mr. Sheepman suspiciously.

“Er, yes,” said JFK, staring him down.

“Alright then, JFK,” said Mr. Sheepman, looking as if he wanted the matter resolved as soon as possible, “Then you can take this note to Principal Scudworth and explain to him what you’ve done.”

JFK glared at Mr. Sheepman for a moment before grabbing the note. “Fine,” he said, storming out of the room.


	6. 6

The bell had rung several minutes ago. You were standing in the bustling hallway where you had been that morning. It had been an embarrassing day, to say the least. Since first period, it seemed everyone had been staring at you and whispering behind your back, even more than they had been before. You had sat by yourself in a corner at lunch, and when you left your things alone to go get a fork, your returned to find three sheep drawings rolled up and wedged into your mac and cheese, and two more notes of the side warning you to stay away from JFK because they had dibs on him. Come to think of it, you had noticed a number of girls glaring at you that day, too.

“[y/n],” you heard a voice say from behind you. “I, er, uh, didn’t think you’d come.” JFK marched up to you, holding a folded piece of paper in his hands.

“I wasn’t going to,” you said with a huff. “Not only did you manage to make me the biggest idiot in school on my first day here, but I also received two different death threats by girls who seem to think they have you claimed.”

“Er, uh, don’t worry about them,” he said confidently, “they’re just jealous. So, er, if you’re so mad at me, why did you come?”

“Well,” you said slowly, “When Mr. Sheepman said I had to go to the principal’s office, I thought you were just gonna let it happen. It’s what anyone would have done, I guess. But you didn’t do that. You took the blame. You didn’t have to, but you did. It was… I dunno, selfless, I guess. And I figured I ought to say thank you.”

“Even though I’m the one who got you in trouble?” he said, looking guilty.

“Yeah, I guess so,” you said, shrugging. “Plus, I’m not one to hold a grudge.”

“Well, er, that’s good then,” said JFK, “because I, er, uh, made you this.” He handed you the paper in his hand and motioned for you to open it. In sloppy handwriting at the top, it said, “I’m sorry [y/n]. From, JFK.” Below it was a somewhat lopsided-looking sheep, smiling while standing under a rainbow.

“So, er, are you still mad at me?” asked JFK.

You thought for a moment. “I guess not,” you said finally, folding the paper back up and slipping it in your pocket.

“So then, er, I can still take you to get a milkshake?” he said, hopefully, his old grin back in place.

“Fine,” you said with a chuckle, “but on the way, you have to tell me what happened in Principal Scudworth’s office.”

“Done,” he said eagerly, putting his arm over your shoulder and steering you down the hall to the door.


	7. 7

“And he said he was this close to, er, uh, putting me in the death maze again.” 

“Whoah, whoah, whoah,” you said, alarmed. “Hold up! Death maze?!  _ Again?!?! _ ”

You were seated shotgun in JFK’s showy red convertible. When you first saw it, you decided not to point out the irony of his car choice. To be honest, you were pretty sure he wouldn’t have understood if you did mention it. He was behind the wheel, driving a little faster than you would have liked, and cutting it a little close to the curb at times, but the gentle breeze through the open top somehow put you at ease enough to chat.

“Well, er, he only calls it a death maze,” said JFK, shrugging, “but it’s really just our, er, overheated spooky basement. I, er, uh, don’t think it’s up to code.”

“So he throws disobedient students in the basement and makes them find their way out?” you asked in disbelief. “That’s gotta be illegal or something. Do parents know about it?”

“Er, uh, probably not,” said JFK. “But I’ve been down there so many times, I can get out in a jiffy. It’s harder for, er, first timers like you.”

“So how come he let you off the hook?” You asked.

“Well, er,” said JFK with a giggle, “I, er, uh, showed him the drawing.”

“And?”

“And, er, he laughed so hard he, er, uh, fell out of his chair,” JFK finished, grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, we’re here!”

With a sharp twist of the steering wheel, he swerved into the parking lot of a very vintage looking diner with a big neon sign. Looking up at it, you read the words, “The Grassy Knoll.” you blinked for a moment in confusion as JFK turned off the engine and got out of the car.

“The Grassy Knoll?” you said. “Isn’t that the place where…”

“Hrm?” JFK said as he opened your door for you.

“Oh, nevermind,” you said, deciding it was better not to tell him.

With his usual swagger, JFK put his arm over your shoulder and led you inside, showing you to a booth.

“Er, uh, this booth is special,” he said in a loud whisper, as if telling a secret that wasn’t really secret.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” you said, deciding to go along with it. “Is it magic or something?”

“No,” said JFK with a grin, “even better. It’s got pepper.”

“Huh,” you said, just noticing the shaker. “So it does.”


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a bit since I uploaded. I've got lots of classes right now. Hope it was worth the wait! :)

“So,” said JFK, taking a sip of his milkshake, “who was the, er, original [y/n]?”

“The original?” you asked. “What do you mean?”

“Your, er, clone parent,” he said. “What’s she famous for?”

“Oh, um,” you said uncomfortably, twisting your straw, “well, I don’t have one.”

“Eh?” said JFK, tilting his head.

“I’m not a clone,” you said, slumping in your seat. “I’m just a regular, boring nobody who’s only here by some bizarre mistake.”

JFK stared at you a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Slowly, as if trying very hard to understand, he said, “so then, er,  _ you’re _ the original [y/n]?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” you said, watching him intently. He continued to squint at the table, thinking and saying nothing.

“Well,” you said with a glum sigh, “now you know I’m the odd one out, you probably won’t wanna talk to me. Popular guy like you, I’m probably bad for your image or something, right?”

“Er, my what now?” he said, blinking and raising an eyebrow.

“What I’m trying to say is,” you said, fiddling with your straw again, “It would make sense if you didn’t want to be seen with me, that’s all.”

“I, er, uh, don’t care about that stuff,” JFK said, shrugging. “People seem to like me no matter what. Plus, if any bozos give you a hard time, I can, er, uh, give ‘em the old socko.”

“The old what?”

“Er, you know,” said JFK, grinning, “a knuckle sandwich.”

“Oh,” you laughed, “just don’t get yourself in trouble again. Certainly not on my behalf. I appreciate it though. It’s nice to know  _ someone _ at school doesn’t hate my guts.”

“Eh, don’t let those chowderheads get you down,” he said. “A knockout dame like you doesn’t need ‘em.


	9. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I snuck a bit of Boston lore in here for our Boston boy. If you know it, you know it. ;)

It was nearly 4:00 when you left the Grassy Knoll with JFK. The afternoon had flown by so fast, you had hardly realized where the time had gone. It wasn’t until you got an agitated text from your dad, asking when you’d be home, that you realized how long it had been. On the way to your house, JFK had cranked the radio. You were surprised to find that he liked to sing, albeit somewhat out of tune, and even more surprised that he knew all the words to Sweet Caroline. It was strangely endearing to hear him singing like no one was listening, and you were a little sad to hear him stop as his car screeched into your driveway.

“Thanks for a fun afternoon, JFK,” you said, undoing your seatbelt. “I had a really good time. Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

“Sure,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Er, uh, by the way, you don’t have to call me JFK. If you like, you can, er, just call me Jack.”

“Alright, then, Jack,” you said, smiling and getting out of the car. “See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll, er, see you then,” he said. He looked like he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it and closed his mouth again. Instead, he gave a little wave as he backed his car out of the driveway. You watched the red convertible disappear down the street, feeling as if something had just gone very, very right.

After standing on the pavement, grinning like an idiot for a few seconds, you shook your head and came back to the real world. There was homework to be done and a frustrated dad waiting inside. You searched your pockets for your house key. In your back left pocket, you felt it, wedged behind a piece of folded paper. You took both out and turned the paper over in your hands. Unfolding it, you realized it was the drawing JFK had given you. You traced the outline of his messy handwriting and lopsided sheep, then turned it over. On the back was more of his sloppy scrawl, scribbled in the corner where you hadn’t seen it the first time. Squinting at it in the dappled afternoon light, you realized it was a phone number.

Humming contentedly to yourself, you folded the paper back up, returned it to your pocket, and put the key in the door. Maybe you’d like it here after all.


	10. 10

That evening, ten little numbers nagged at you. The whole time you did your homework, and while you ate dinner with your family and told them about Clone High, and while you packed up your backpack for the next day, you couldn’t stop thinking about the numbers scribbled on the back of the paper in your pocket. You were itching to type in the number and text him immediately, but discipline told you to wait until you’d done all of your work and evening routines. You knew if you texted him first, you’d get too wrapped up in talking to get anything done.

It wasn’t until just before bed that you finally allowed yourself to take the paper back out and add the new contact to your phone. Eagerly, you opened a new message and prepared to type, but then you paused, thinking.

What exactly was the right thing to say? Was it too soon to text him? Should you wait until tomorrow? Or perhaps you had waited too long to text him and he was wondering if you’d even noticed his number? Maybe you should have texted him hours ago. Or maybe he’d already gone to bed and your text would wake him up? Would you be bothering him?

_ No, calm down. This is ridiculous. He gave you his number, so of course he wanted you to text him. Just say something. _

You steeled your nerves for a moment before picking up your phone.

**_Hey Jack it’s [y/n] :)_ **

**_I had a really good time with you today_ **

**_What are you up to?_ **


	11. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV change. Hope y'all don't mind.

“Er, dads? Can I er, uh, talk to you guys about something?”

JFK had been pacing around his room for the past hour. He had been thinking. This wasn’t something he did terribly often, and it was evidenced by the fact that he had yet to come up with a single idea. He didn’t usually ask people for advice, and he certainly didn’t like to talk about his feelings, but something told him this time it was important.

“Sure, baby,” said Wally, switching off the TV. “Come sit down on the couch with us. What’s on your mind?”

“Er, dads,” said JFK, sitting down stiffly. “How do I, er, get someone to like me?”

“So you finally found a nice boy to bring home?” said Carl, grinning and raising an eyebrow. “About time!”

“Er, no dad,” JFK said, fidgeting awkwardly. “She’s, er, not a boy.”

“Well, baby,” said Wally gently, “Couldn’t you do whatever it is you always do? You, know, with all the other girls you’ve brought home?”

“No, dad,” said JFK, frustrated, “not like that. This is different.”

“How so, baby?” asked Wally.

“Well, er, I don’t just wanna nail her,” he said, looking even more uncomfortable. “She, er, uh, she gives me, er… feelings.”

“Ah, I see,” said Wally, nodding. “Well, when I was first getting to know your dad, I used to bring him flowers and slip little notes in his bag. Maybe you could try something like that.”

“Okay,” said JFK, nodding seriously and standing to go.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, just tell her how you feel!” said Carl, shaking his head. “If she likes you, she likes you. If she doesn’t, she doesn’t.”

“Well, yes, I suppose you could do that too, baby,” said Wally diplomatically. “Just listen to your heart and it’ll be alright.”

“Thanks dads,” said JFK, grinning and heading back up the stairs. He was already coming up with a plan.

As he reached the top step, he felt a buzz in his back pocket. Pulling out his phone excitedly, he checked his messages:

**_Hey Jack it’s [y/n] :)_ **

**_I had a really good time with you today_ **

**_What are you up to?_ **

He felt a funny feeling in his chest as he read the texts and realized after a moment that he was grinning like an idiot.

**_Nothing much_ ** , he typed back, trying to sound nonchalant.

**_You?_ **

He waited for a moment for your reply, hardly noticing that he was holding his breath. After a moment, a reply came.

**_Just did the last of my homework_ **

**_Got a few minutes before I go to bed_ **

_ Great _ , he thought to himself. She wasn’t busy. He could begin his plan.

_**Could I walk you to school tomorrow?** _


	12. 12

When your alarm went off the following morning, you didn’t hit snooze. Instead, you bolted out of bed, eagerly rushing to get dressed and brush your teeth. Normally, mornings didn’t move at this pace, but you couldn’t help but feel full of energy as you did your morning routine.

Realizing after you had finished getting cleaned up that you would have some extra time before you’d need to leave, you went back to your room and sat on your bed. You picked up the folded piece of paper from your nightstand and opened it up. Tracing JFK’s name and smiling softly to yourself, you went to your desk and fished around for a roll of tape. After a moment of searching, you found it and peeled off four pieces. You fastened these to the corners of the note and taped it on the wall next to your bed. Humming contentedly, you headed downstairs to make some breakfast.

You were finishing doing your dishes when you heard a knock at your door that made your heart jump. Scooping up your backpack and sliding on your shoes with all the speed you could muster, you hurried to answer it.

“Er, uh, good morning, [y/n],” said a nervous looking JFK. He had one arm behind his back.

“Morning, Jack,” you said brightly. “Whatcha got there?”

“I, er, uh, brought you something,” he said, somehow managing to look everywhere but your eyes. “Er, uh, here.”

Awkwardly, he pulled something out from behind him. It took you a moment to realize what you were looking at, but slowly you realized that the hodgepodge of stems and leaves and blossoms was a bouquet, if not a somewhat haphazardly constructed one. It was clear that he had gone on a walk that morning and picked them from around the neighborhood, because many of the flowers were plants that were technically considered weeds, mixed in with things that had definitely been snatched from someone’s garden. You wondered which of his neighbors would be missing their peonies.

Still, it was a sweet gesture, and he had clearly taken extra time that day to gather everything, not to mention drive to school and then walk to your house. In a way, it was touching that he’d been thinking of you and put in the extra effort.

“Aww, thank you, Jack,” you said, taking the bouquet and giving him a big hug. “They’re beautiful.”

JFK, surprised at you, stood in your arms for a moment before dazedly hugging you back.

“You, er, might wanna put them in some water,” he said, clearing his throat as you let go.

“You’re right,” you said, giggling. “Wouldn’t want them to wilt. Give me just a second.”

You hurried back into the kitchen, filling a glass with water and putting the flowers in. You were about to head back out when an idea struck you. You grabbed two clover flowers from the bouquet and headed out the door.

JFK was standing there, grinning from ear to ear when you came back. When he saw the flowers in your hands, he looked surprised.

“Er, what’s that for?” he said, nodding at them.

“Hold still,” you said. JFK looked confused, but he obeyed. Smiling, you took one of the clovers and tucked it gently behind his ear. Then, you tucked the other one behind your ear.

“There,” you said. “Perfect.” JFK stood on your porch looking stunned. His face was starting to turn red. “Um, Jack? Are you okay?”

“Er, uh, well, er, uh, I, er… I’m fine.”

“Well,” you said with a grin, “If you’re fine then, are you gonna walk me to school or not?”

JFK hurriedly put his arm over your shoulder like usual.

“Er, sure. Come with me.”


	13. 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up in the plot department >:)

When you and JFK stepped onto campus, your confidence waned immediately. You could feel people’s eyes following you as you walked with him, and people whispered to each other as you passed.

“Jack, why is everyone staring?” you asked him quietly.

“Just ignore them,” he said nonchalantly. “They can, er, mind their own business. And like I said, if any bozos give you a hard time, I can, er, give ‘em the old socko.”

“Whatever you say,” you said, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else going on. 

Just as you and JFK reached the front doors, you heard the bell ring.

“What class you got right now?” you asked him.

“Er, bio, I think.”

“Darn,” you said. “I’ve got English. See you third period then?”

“I’ll see you there,” said JFK, grinning before disappearing into the crowd of students. You went your own way, heading upstairs to English class. It took you a little while to find it, since you were still learning your way around, and you were delayed even further when you felt something collide with the back of your head. Turning around, you saw a paper ball on the floor.  _ What was it with people and throwing notes at your head? _

You picked it up, glancing around to try and find its sender, but there were too many people in the hall and they were moving too fast for you to identify anyone. Shrugging, you tucked the note into your pocket and made your way to class, only opening it when you had plopped down in a seat. Upon reading it, you could feel a sinking feeling in your stomach.

_ “To the new girl: Kennedy’s a player. He’s banged half the school and just wants to get into your pants. Do yourself a favor and leave him alone.” _

_ Of course. _

Of course it had been too good to be true. A nice guy with a sense of humor taking an interest in you, a nobody? On your very first day? Of course it hadn’t been real. You were kicking yourself for even having believed it.

And that must have been why everyone was whispering about you. He was the local fuckboy, and you were his brand new arm candy. Inevitably, you’d be thrown aside as soon as he got what he wanted. How could you have been so stupid?  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid! _

Heart pounding and mind racing, you took the flower from behind your ear and crunched it up in your fist. When it was well and truly destroyed, you deposited the mangled remains in the trash. 

You were so hurt and bitter, you hardly even heard the people snickering at you during class, and you certainly didn’t pay attention to the lesson.


	14. 14

JFK found it hard to concentrate all throughout his bio class. Not that he ever really paid much attention in class, but today was different. His mind kept wandering back to that morning. The smile on your face as you’d answered the door, your look of surprise as he gave you the flowers, the warmth he had felt in your arms. Several times, he found himself absentmindedly fiddling with the flower behind his ear, or scribbling little hearts in his notebook. He didn’t even bother covering the doodles up when people walked by his desk. Usually, he’d have been embarrassed, but today, he just didn’t care.

Instead, he started thinking about third period. Maybe if he got there early enough, he could get a seat next to you. He couldn’t wait to see you smile at him again. Maybe he could slip a note in your bag like Wally had said. But what would he write? Certainly not anything fancy like a poem, and definitely not a love letter. Writing had never been his forte, nor had expressing himself. Maybe a drawing? You seemed to have liked his doodles before. But what to draw? Maybe a picture of you? No, his scribbles wouldn’t do you justice. Maybe something cute instead. Girls liked cute things, right? Or was that just some of them? He wasn’t sure. He’d never really tried so hard for someone before, and he was realizing it was a lot harder than he’d anticipated.

JFK was utterly lost in his thoughts, so much so that he didn’t even notice Catherine the Great and the Bronte sisters whispering to each other and pointing at him, nor did he notice them start passing a note around. So consumed was he by his anticipation for third period, he didn’t see the meaningful nods in his direction, exchanged by Marilyn Monroe and Harriet Tubman. In fact, he would have likely been lost in thought until next week had the bell not jolted him back to Earth.


	15. 15

By the time third period rolled around, you’d spent so long wallowing in bitterness, it had morphed into a hurt sort of quiet rage. What kind of asshole would lead you on like that, just because you were new and didn’t know any better? What kind of jerk would pretend to be interested in you when all he wanted was to get his rocks off? You made up your mind you weren’t going to talk to him anymore. Hell, if you could avoid it, you weren’t even going to acknowledge him. Players like him were best left alone.

When you marched into Mr. Sheepman’s classroom, you decided to find yourself the most secluded corner of the room to sit in, so that perhaps JFK wouldn’t be able to find a seat next to you. Settling down in your spot, you opened your notes and buried your nose in them. If you made yourself look really busy, maybe no one would try to talk to you. However, you were quickly distracted from your task when a huge flock of giggling girls, many of them not even part of your class, sauntered into the room behind an oblivious-looking JFK.

As soon as he saw you, his whole face lit up, and he hurried to sit down next to you. You avoided his gaze, instead staring confusedly at the gaggle of girls who crowded around him. You realized, with another pang of indignation, that every one of the girls had a flower tucked behind her ear.

“JFK, whatcha doin tonight?” asked someone you could only guess was Mother Teresa. She was leaning on his desk and blowing a big bubble with her gum.

“JFK, what’s the flower for?” said another girl who looked suspiciously like Anne Boleyn.

“JFK, what do you think of my flower? Isn’t it pretty?” asked yet another girl, this one who you were about 70% sure was Jayne Mansfield. She was leaning on JFK’s shoulder.

You gritted your teeth and turned away from him in disgust, not seeing the way his face fell and his shoulders slumped.

“Girls,” said Mr. Sheepman, hurrying over to the crowd, “The bell’s about to ring. You ought to be heading to your next class now. I ask that you please leave my classroom.”

Grumbling collectively, the crowd dispersed, leaving JFK alone at his desk.

“Er, uh, sorry about them,” he said uncomfortably, “I think we’ve, er, started a new trend. Er, where's yours?”

You huffed , but didn’t say anything, keeping your face buried in your notes.

“Er, did I, er, do something wrong?” he asked.

“You tell me,” you said sullenly through gritted teeth.

“Hrm?”

Wordlessly, you handed him the note from that morning. He unfolded it. After a moment, his shoulders slumped.

“Oh, he said, handing the note back to you. “I see.”

“Now class,” said Mr. Sheepman from the front of the room, “We’re going to review the readings for last night. I hope you all brought your notes.”


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update, I was without wi-fi for a few days. Hope it was worth the wait :)

JFK came home that afternoon feeling utterly miserable. The moment he walked through the door, he dumped his backpack on the floor, slipped off his loafers, and faceplanted into the couch. Wally heard the slam of the door and hurried in to see what was the matter.

“Baby, what’s got into you?” he said, sitting down on the couch beside his foster son.

JFK said nothing.

“Is this something to do with that girl you were talking about yesterday?”

JFK nodded wordlessly, head still buried firmly in the couch cushion.

“Aw, baby, why don’t you tell me what happened?” said Wally, putting a hand comfortingly on JFK’s shoulder. JFK only shook his head into the couch.

“If you tell me what happened, maybe I can help you figure out how to fix it,” said Wally, trying to sound cheerful. “But keeping it all bottled up won’t do you no good.”

JFK rolled over slowly. He was wearing the glummest expression Wally had ever seen.

“Dad,” he said, staring at the ceiling, “have you, er, ever had someone talk about you behind your back?”

“Oh, all the time, baby,” said Wally, gently brushing some stray hairs out of JFK’s face. “Especially when I was your age. Did this girl spread rumors about you or something?”

“Er, uh, no,” said JFK, still staring at the ceiling. “You, er, know how I’ve brought home lots of girls in the past?”

“Yes, baby,” said Wally, looking a little confused.

“Well, er, uh, someone told this girl about all of them,” he said.

“Oh,” said Wally heavily. “And?”

“And, er, now she thinks I just want to bang her,” JFK finished, rolling back over to bury his face in the couch.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby,” said Wally gently, putting his hand reassuringly on his foster son’s back. “And, just to confirm, you don’t just want to bang her?”

JFK shook his head, face once again planted in the cushions.

“So you really like this girl then?”

JFK nodded.

“Hmm,” said Wally, “do you think she still wants to talk to you?”

JFK shook his head again.

“Well, why don’t you talk to her?” Wally suggested. “Tell her how you feel about her. If it’s meant to be, then she’ll let you know, baby.”

JFK lifted his head to look at his foster dad.

“But, er, what if she says no?” he said.

“Then you let her be,” Wally sighed, “and you can come home and be sad with your dads. But before you start worrying about ‘what-if’s, go talk to her, baby.”


	17. 17

When you got home, you stomped upstairs and stormed into your bedroom, throwing your bag on your floor and plopping down at your desk. You had convinced yourself that getting right to work would distract you from everything you were feeling, but you found that as soon as you tried to do your math problems, your mind was wandering back to JFK.

Could there have been some kind of mistake? Or maybe someone was just trying to sabotage whatever it was you two had had? After all, he had seemed very sweet yesterday, if not a little low on the intelligence meter. But he  _ had _ had a huge gaggle of girls around him today, and everyone seemed to be angry at you, so it would make sense if he had tons of exes and side chicks. You certainly didn’t have the energy to be another toy in his collection.

_ No. Stop it. Quit wasting your time. Just get your work done and forget about him. You’ve got bigger fish to fry than a fuckboy with pretty hair. _

Once again, you tried to focus on your math, staring intently at the equations on the sheet, but for some reason, it was like you couldn’t read the numbers anymore. Your mind had decided it didn’t want to think about anything else, and you were powerless to stop it.

Sighing in frustration you turned your chair around and looked around at your room. You’d been right, you  _ did _ hate it here. This wasn’t your room. This wasn’t your house. This wasn’t your school, or your town. It wasn’t  _ home _ .

Your eyes searched around in the room for something, anything, that felt like home. Instead, they fell on the note taped beside your bed. Gritting your teeth, you got up and made your way over to it. Stiffly, you peeled the tape away and took the note down. You were about to crumple it up when you heard the doorbell.

“[y/n]!” called your dad’s voice from downstairs. “Can you answer it? I’m on the phone!”

Sighing, you put the note down on your bed and headed downstairs to answer it. Maybe it was some neighbor, here to welcome you to the town.

When you opened the door, you were met instead with a familiar red and white striped shirt. You could see, too, that it belonged to a familiar pair of tight khakis, shiny loafers, and a very guilty looking face.

“Go away, JFK,” you said, moving to close the door.

“Wait!” he said hurriedly, looking upset. “Er, please.”

“What do you want?” you said tiredly, leaning on the doorframe, hand still on the doorknob.

“I, er, uh, wanted to say that I’m sorry,” he said uncomfortably.

“Hmm,” you said, picking at your nails and not looking at him.

“I, er, wanted you to know that note isn’t true,” he said. “Well, er, some of it is,” he admitted.

You raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“But not the part about you,” he added hurriedly.

You said nothing.

“Er, what I’m trying to say is that I, er, uh, do really like you. And, er, not just like a fling. I know I’ve, er, slept around a lot, but that’s not what I wanted with you. So, I, er, uh, wanted to say sorry. For, uh, if I wasn’t clear earlier.”

You were quiet for a moment, thinking about what he said.

“I’m, er, not good at talking about this sort of thing,” he said, fidgeting nervously. Then after a second’s hesitation, he added, “do you still hate me?”

You thought about it for a moment. “No,” you said. “No, I don’t hate you. I never did. I guess I was just jealous, that’s all.”

“I, er, uh, I’m sorry,” he said. “For, uh, making you jealous.”

“No,” you said gently, “you don’t need to be. I made assumptions about you over things you can’t change. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“So, er, we can hang out again?” he asked, looking at you hopefully.

“Yeah, I guess so,” you said smiling.

“Can I, er, ask you one more question?” JFK said nervously.

“Sure.”

“Do you, er, wanna be my girlfriend, [y/n]?” he asked.

“You mean it?” you said. “You’re not gonna run off with some other girl or something?”

“Er, no,” he said. “Just you.”

“Then there’s nothing I’d like better.”


	18. 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, it's been a busy week

The next morning when JFK arrived at your house to walk you to school, you were waiting on the doorstep for him. As soon as he saw you, his whole face lit up, and as the two of you made your way to school together, instead of putting his arm around your shoulders like usual, the two of you marched onto campus hand-in-hand. This time, your head was so thoroughly in the clouds, you could hardly hear all the people whispering as you passed, nor did you even care that nearly every girl in school seemed to be wearing a flower behind her ear.

When the two of you got inside, the quiet whispering turned into a jostling crowd of girls, all cooing over JFK and showing him their flowers. JFK avoided eye contact with them, putting his arm around your waist and holding you tighter to him as the two of you made your way down the hall.

“Wow, it’s like you're a celebrity around here or something,” you said, raising your eyebrows at him.

“Well, er, technically so is everyone else,” he said with a sly grin.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you said, playfully elbowing him in the side. “Do they ever leave you alone, though?”

“Er, usually yes,” he said, “but everyone’s always a little, er, excited around the beginning of the year. I usually, er, uh, just ignore them. They go away eventually.”

The two of you ducked out of the busy hallway into a quiet stairwell, where you sat down together. You leaned into JFK as put his arm around you.

“This is, er, by secret hiding spot,” he said, grinning.

“Doesn’t look so secret to me,” you teased. “I mean, we just walked in.”

“But, er, people don’t usually,” said JFK. “Leads to the physics wing. Nobody, er, likes physics.”

“I see,” you said, smiling at him. “So the crowd won’t follow us here.”

“Nope.”

“So,” you said, settling in under his arm, “besides you, who are the stars of Clone High?”

“Well, er, there’s Cleopatra,” he said. “She may be pretty, but, er, uh, don’t be fooled. She only cares about herself.”

“Alright then,” you said. “I’ll leave her alone then. Who else?”

“There’s, er, Cleo’s posse,” he said. “Catherine the Great, er, Helen of Troy, Mary, Queen of Scots, Marie Antoinette, Julius Caesar, and, er, the Bronte Sisters.”

“And they’re the popular kids?” you asked.

“Er, yeah,” said JFK, shrugging. “But, er, Cleo’s like their queen.”

Just as you were about to ask another question about Clone High hierarchy, the bell rang.

“What do you have first?” you asked him.

“Er, gym.”

“Me too.”


	19. 19

“Now, for today’s class we’ll be playing baseball. I’m going to put you all into teams, and you play till the end of class, and if I catch any of you wusses sitting around instead of playing the game, it’ll be a nice, long walk to Principal Scudworth’s office, so play hard.”

“Is she always like this?” you whispered to JFK, holding onto his arm, nervously.

“Er, yes,” he whispered back. “Nobody likes Ms. Roosevelt.”

“Now, I’m going to assign you all a number, and that will determine your team. Ones are batting, twos are in the field.”

You had only a second to realize what this meant before Ms. Roosevelt pointed at the two of you.

“Let’s start with the little lovebirds over here. [y/l/n], you’re one. Kennedy, you’re a two.”

The two of you exchanged disappointed glances.

“Yes, I’m sure you’ll be suffering if you’re apart. Well, that’s tough, isn’t it? Now, Kennedy, get out in the field.”

Scowling, JFK marched off into the field as Ms. Roosevelt started numbering the rest of the class. You could feel everyone looking at you, and your cheeks felt hot and flushed. You silently wished to yourself that you could disappear.

When everyone had been divided into teams, the ones lined up to prepare to bat. You ended up in the middle of the line, surrounded by students you didn’t know. A beautiful girl with dark brown hair, standing on your right, nudged you with her elbow.

“Hey, new kid,” she whispered. “What’d the old hag say your name was again?”

“Um, [y/n],” you said. “What’s yours?”

“Cleopatra,” said the girl. “But everyone calls me Cleo. So, who was the original [y/n]?”

Your heart sank.  _ Oh boy, not the dreaded question. _

“Well, uh, I’m not actually a clone,” you said uncomfortably.

“You what?” she said, looking slightly disgusted.

“I’m not a clone,” you repeated simply, feeling indignation rise a little in the back of your throat.

“Then what the hell are you here for?” she asked, stepping away from you a little as if you were diseased.

“To learn, just like you, asshole,” you snapped back, surprising yourself with the sharpness of your response.

Cleo narrowed her eyes at you suspiciously before turning around in a huff. You sighed, turning to look at the field instead, hoping to distract yourself. Ms. Roosevelt was blowing her whistle and pointing angrily at JFK, who was on the ground next to another boy.

“Kennedy, Lincoln, no tackling in class!” she shouted. The two got up, brushing themselves off. JFK looked up, saw you looking at him, and grinned at you, giving a thumbs-up. You smiled back as he jogged back to his place on the field.

You were fondly watching him run after the ball when you heard people whispering on your right. Cleo was talking to a group of other students, many of whom were glancing back at you every so often.

_ Great, _ you thought,  _ now the whole school is gonna know. _

The rest of class passed excruciatingly slowly. You were conscious of people staring and pointing at you, try as you did to ignore them. Instead, you spent most of the time watching JFK jogging around, getting scolded periodically by Ms. Roosevelt for rowdiness. Even with his welcome distraction, it seemed like eternity until Ms. Roosevelt dismissed everyone to change.

When you opened the door to the locker room, a crowd of girls stood together, giggling to each other, Cleo at their center. As you walked in, a few of them pointed at you and hushed each other. The crowd dispersed immediately, all pretending nothing had happened. Gritting your teeth, you changed as quickly as possible and hurried out of the room.


	20. 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Here's the fluff I know y'all been thirsting for.

“Er, [y/n]? Are you, er, uh, okay?”

You were leaned against the wall outside the locker rooms, staring glumly at the floor. You looked up at JFK, who was wearing a concerned expression as he approached.

“Did, er, something happen, baby?” he asked. You didn’t answer, but wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest.

“There, there,” he said gently, holding you tightly. “Do you, er, wanna talk about it?”

Wordlessly, you shook your head, still hugging him.

“Well, er, that’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to. We can, er, just stay here till the bell.” JFK squeezed you tighter, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

Just as you were starting to feel a little better, a flock of girls emerged from the locker rooms, Cleo at the head of the pack. As they passed you by, you could hear them snickering to each other, and when they were most of the way down the hall, a blonde girl turned around and threw a paper ball at your head, laughing as she disappeared around the corner.

Sighing, you let go of JFK and bent down to pick it up. He watched as you unfolded it, revealing the words,  _ Not a clone, not welcome here. _ JFK gasped quietly.

“Why I oughta-” he began, making to go after the group of girls, but you grabbed his wrist gently.

“Don’t worry about it, Jack,” you said, taking his hand. “Don’t get yourself in any trouble. It’s not worth it.”

“That, er, no-good bitch, Catherine the Great,” he huffed, clenching his fist. “She threw it. You know what I call her?”

“Do I want to?” you asked, raising your eyebrows.

“I, er, uh, call her Catherine the so-so,” he said. “Don’t, er, let her get to you, though. She’s, er, just a chowderhead with beans for brains.”

JFK wrapped his arms around you again, and you laid your head back on his chest, feeling his warmth and listening to his heartbeat, still fast in his anger.

“Jack?” you said, looking up at his face.

“Er, what?

“Thank you,” you said, lifting up on your toes to kiss his cheek.

“Er, what for?” he asked, his face turning pink, and a dazed grin spreading over his lips.

“For being here,” you said. “And for giving me the time of day. I’m glad you found me.”

“Couldn’t have missed you,” he said, grinning and squeezing you gently.

_ Ding, ding, ding. _

“Third period next, right?”

“Er, uh, yeah.”

“Walk with me?”

“Okay.”


	21. 21

“Alright, class, before I dismiss you, I have an exciting announcement from Principal Scudworth.”

A hush fell over the room as students listened with interest to Mr. Sheepman. You and JFK exchanged glances.

“Next Friday, Clone High will be hosting its annual October dance,” said Mr. Sheepman dryly. “Should any of you choose to attend, let me make it abundantly clear that students are expected to be on their best behavior, and there will be no alcohol permitted on the premises. Besides that, get dressed up, bring somebody special, and remember to have fun!”

The whole classroom began to buzz with excitement, whispering to each other excitedly. JFK grinned and raised his eyebrows at you.

“Alright, class, that’s all,” said Mr. Sheepman. “Class dismissed.”

Immediately, several girls with flowers behind their ears bolted from their chairs and made a beeline for JFK. You recognized one of them as Catherine the Great, and guessed another to be Marilyn Monroe. You gave a meaningful nod towards them as they approached, and JFK’s face fell when he caught sight of them.

“JFK, are you thinking of asking anyone?” asked Monroe, breathlessly.

“Yeah, who are you taking to the dance?” said Catherine the Great, leaning suggestively on his desk and pursing her lips.

A chorus of other questions bubbled up from the girls behind them as they all fought to be at the front of the group.

“Er, sorry ladies,” said JFK nonchalantly, propping himself up on his desk with his arm. “I, er, uh, already have someone in mind.”

A number of girls sighed disappointedly at his response and shuffled off to collect their things, but Catherine the Great remained, squinting at you as if you were a slug on her shoe.

“Just so you know, Kennedy,” she said, shooting you a glare, “it matters who you’re seen with. Don’t get me wrong, the fresh meat is, erm,  _ fascinating _ , for sure, but just remember she isn’t one of us, and she isn’t good for your look. Wouldn’t want the whole school thinking you’ve lost your edge, would you?”

JFK gritted his teeth, clenching his fist as he rose from his seat, glaring at Catherine the Great.

“Jack, dont-” you began, reaching to grab his wrist, but it was too late.

With all the force of a chiseled high school football star, he slammed a punch directly into Catherine’s face, sending her crashing over a desk. JFK tried to go after her, already forming another fist, but you caught up to him and grabbed onto his arm, holding him back.

“Jack, stop it!” you shouted, tugging on his arm with all your might.

Feeling your touch, JFK came to his senses, huffing angrily as Catherine the Great scrambled away.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said quietly, still clutching his bicep. Mr. Sheepman was hurrying over to the two of you with a look on his face that said  _ big trouble _ .

“Kennedy! [y/n]! Principal Scudworth’s office. Now.”

Wordlessly, the two of you scooped up your things and headed for the door as Mr. Sheepman bustled after Catherine the Great.

“Jack-” you said as he marched down the hallway, tugging on his arm gently. He was staring at the floor guiltily.

“I, er, uh, I’m sorry,” he said, not looking at you. “I know I, er, shouldn’t have done it, but that dumb broad had it coming.”

“Jack, you can’t just go punching anyone who says nasty shit about me,” You said, trying to reason with him. “I mean, you’d be fighting half the school!”

“I know,” said JFK, shaking his head, still glaring at the floor. “I just, er, can’t stand hearing them talk smack about my girlfriend, that’s all.”

“Jack.”

“I know! I’m sorry!” he said, scrunching his face up. “I, er, won’t do it again.”

“I forgive you,” you said tiredly, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “Not sure if Principal Scudworth will, though.”


	22. 22

“Ah, Kennedy. [y/n]. Sit down.”

Principal Scudworth led the two of you into his office and gestured at two stiff little chairs seated in front of his desk. You and JFK sat down side-by-side. You glanced around nervously, trying to guess at what might be in store for you. Instead of answers, you spied hundreds of beakers and test tubes, scattered stacks of journals with pages sticking out of the sides, a glass jar full of green liquid that seemed to contain a human fetus, an enormous screen on the back wall, and what seemed to be a model of an amusement park on the counter behind Principal Scudworth’s desk. This room seemed to be some bizarre combination of office, laboratory, and studio, and didn’t want to think about what kind of experiments went on in here.

Seeing how anxious you looked, Jfk took your hand and gave it a little squeeze.

“Now, Kennedy,” said Principal Scudworth, sitting down at his desk and leering at JFK, “I seem to remember you sitting in that exact spot just two days ago. Leaping back into your usual shenanigans a little early this year, I see.”

JFK shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Ah, and Miss [y/n]. For a quiet little nobody like yourself, I’ve been hearing quite a lot about you. Now, because we’re a public institution, I cannot keep an… average person like yourself from attending Clone High. However, I also cannot make you fit in with your peers, nor can I excuse you from punishment if you clash with other students.”

You nodded silently, eyes cast at the floor. JFK gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Now, from the call I received from Mr. Sheepman, I gather the two of you caused a disturbance in class and gave Miss Catherine the Great a black eye.”

“It was me,” JFK interrupted hurriedly. “I, er, I’m the one who punched her.”

“Is that so?” said Scudworth, fiddling uninterestedly with the fingers of his yellow gloves. “Well, Mr. Sheepman tells me that the both of you were causing a ruckus, so the both of you will be receiving detention.”

“But-”

“But nothing Kennedy,” said Scudworth. “Now, I recall that you are on the track team, yes?”

JFK nodded slowly.

“Well, as much as I would love to have you two serve your detention at normal hours, I think we had better have them before school rather than after. The both of you will arrive here at 6:30 AM tomorrow to serve your detention instead. Can’t have our star athlete missing practice.”

JFK looked confused, but nodded slowly.

“Give us another win, Kennedy,” said Principal Scudworth, grinning a little maniacally and getting up from his desk. “Show GESH what we’re made of. Oh, and [y/n]?”

You sat up and nodded attentively at Scudworth, trying to look innocent.

“Yes, Principal Scudworth?”

“Best of luck at Clone High. You may go.”


	23. 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some fluff, you silly, silly people

“Ah, Kennedy, [y/n]. Good morning. Glad to see that at least you’re punctual, even if you are just a pair of delinquents.”

JFK frowned at Mr. Sheepman’s jab, disgruntled. You squeezed his hand consolingly, while feeling a twinge of indignance in the pit of your stomach.

“Now, Principal Scudworth has agreed that you two will be serving your detention with me today, since it’s my class that you disrupted. First, you will clap out the dust from these blackboard erasers, and then you will be removing gum from the bottoms of all the desks in this room. I suggest you get a wiggle on, because you’ll only have until the bell, and I expect everything to be spic and span by then. Have I made myself understood?”

“Perfectly,” you said, blankly. JFK nodded.

“Wonderful. I’ll be down the hall copying tests for today’s class. Now chop chop.”

Mr. Sheepman grabbed some papers and a stapler and marched out the door. When he was well out of earshot, JFK cleared his throat.

“Er, I know I said it yesterday, but, er-”

“If you’re about to apologize for getting us into trouble again, you don’t need to,” you said calmly, picking up two erasers and marching over to the trash can. “I already said I forgive you, Jack. I promise, it’s okay.”

“But, er, aren’t your parents, er, sorta mad at you now?” he asked, taking his own pair of erasers and following you to.

“Well, yes, they are,” you said, playfully bumping your shoulder against his, “but what am I gonna do? Stay mad at you forever? You’re too cute for that.”

JFK’s face began to turn a shade of red to rival his shirt, and he began stammering like an idiot.

“I, er, uh, well, er, I, erm… Thanks. Er, you too.”

You were a little taken aback at how flustered he had become at such an offhand comment. Did people never flirt with him?

“Jack?”

“Hrm?”

“Has no one ever called you cute before?”

“Er, uh… No, not really.”

“Even with all your, uh, fans?”

“I, er, uh, don’t think they, er, see me that way exactly,” he said, looking uncomfortable as he clapped the erasers together.

“Oh?” you said, looking at him inquisitively. “How so?”

“Well, er,” JFK mumbled, looking down, “you know…”

“I do?”

“They, er,” JFK began, looking as if he thought he might regret what he was about to say, “They just, er, like my ass. And, er, well, other things too.”

You were silent for a moment, surprised. Then, with rising hilarity, you began to snicker, then giggle, then laugh. JFK, realizing you weren’t upset, began to chuckle too, until the both of you were gasping with laughter.

“So you’re telling me,” you said, unsuccessfully suppressing a wheeze, “that the enormous crowds of girls who follow you all just wanna bang you?”

“Well, er, yeah,” said JFK bemusedly.

“They don’t even care who you are?” you asked.

“Er, no, not really. Are they supposed to?”

“Well, I do,” you said. “I mean, you’re kind and funny and charismatic, and you’ve got so much confidence and energy. I mean, sure, it  _ helps _ that you have a nice ass and the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen, but that’s not what matters most. When I call you cute, I don’t just mean on the outside, Jack. You deserve so much more than that.”

JFK stared at you, speechless, his mouth hanging open. He was blushing again, even redder than before.

“Oh, come here, you,” you said, tossing your erasers aside and pulling his arm to get his face close to yours. You planted a kiss on his warm, flushed cheek, then released him gently. After a split second of disorientation, a pair of warm, strong arms pulled you back. JFK held you tightly, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

“Er, [y/n]?”

“Hm?”

“Do you, er, do you mean it?” he asked. “What you just said.”

“Of course I do, Jack,” you said, resting your head on his chest. “Every word.”

Humming happily, he squeezed you a little tighter. You could hear his heart beating a mile a minute.

“Jack?”

“Hrm?”

“Kiss me?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, JFK took your face in his hands and pressed his lips firmly to yours. Linking your arms behind his neck, you fell into the kiss, feeling as though your whole body was filled with warmth. As the two of you melted into each other, the whole world seemed to fall away until all you could comprehend was the boy in your arms.

The moment would surely have lasted forever, had it not been for a disgruntled  _ ahem _ from the doorway. Jerking apart, the two of you turned to see Mr. Sheepman, holding a stack of papers.

“Kennedy, [y/n], perhaps you two would like to spend this time doing your prescribed tasks, rather than making out, lest you find yourselves in yet another detention tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mr. Sheepman,” you said awkwardly, clearing your throat. “Sorry.”

JFK nodded stiffly in agreement, and without another word, the two of you picked up your erasers again. As Mr. Sheepman settled down at his desk, JFK grinned at you and winked.


	24. 24

The bleachers were empty when you marched to the track that afternoon. The September sunshine was golden and warm, undercut by a crisp breeze that smelled like autumn. Shifting the weight of your backpack on your shoulders, you stepped gingerly onto the bleachers, hearing the metal clang hollowly under your shoes. You chose a spot close to the front and put your bag down, plopping into the space next to it on the bench. The metal was cold, and now that you were still, the breeze began to feel sharper. You began to wonder if this was such a good idea after all.

After a few moments of chilly waiting, a group of boys in orange and white jerseys and jackets came jogging out of the back doors of the school, JFK at the head of the pack. He was laughing and chatting with a boy you guessed to be Julius Caesar.

When he made it to the track and saw you on the bleachers, his eyes widened in surprise. Waving away his friends, he jogged up to where you sat.

“[y/n], what are you, er, doing here?” he said, grinning.

“Is it okay if I hang around during practice?” you asked.

“You, er, uh, really wanna sit outside and watch some, er, sweaty dudes run around?” he asked, looking perplexed.

“If I’m allowed to,” you said. “It’s just fun to watch you doing things you love. Plus, it’s not like I’ve got people to hang out with anyways.”

“Well, er, you can stay if you, er, really want to,” he said, hesitantly, “but it’s, er, pretty chilly out.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” you said hurriedly. “Don’t you worry about me, Jack.”

“But, er, it’s my job to worry about you,” he protested. “Here. You can, er, uh, wear my letterman’s jacket.”

JFK shrugged the jacket off of his shoulders and wrapped it over yours, planting a kiss on your head.

“But won’t you be cold?” you asked him.

“Nah, not when I’m running,” he said with a wink. “You can, er, keep it, too, if you want. It has my name on the back, so, er, everyone will know how proud I am to be dating a knockout girl like you.”

“I guess I’ll never take it off, then,” you said, only exaggerating a little.

Just as you were zipping up the jacket, you heard a whistle blow.

“Kennedy, get your preppy ass over here!” shouted Mrs. Roosevelt. “We’re starting warmups!”

Blowing a kiss to you over his shoulder, JFK jogged back to the rest of the group, grinning like an idiot.

Settling into this new warmth, you watched him doing his stretches. The sleeves of his jacket were a little too long for your arms, and the body of the jacket was a bit loose, but for some reason, you had never felt more comfortable in anything else before. You sighed contentedly, noticing that the jacket smelled like hair gel and freshly-cut grass, just like JFK.

As you watched him begin his laps in the afternoon glow and settled into the jacket, it was all too easy to forget that just that morning, you had been in detention. The guilt of getting into trouble, the frustration of being gossiped about, and the loneliness of being in a new school all seemed to fall away, until all that was left was this moment, on this track, on this day, with your perfect boyfriend grinning at you as he passed your spot during each new lap.


	25. 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took me so long to update. I know I usually update every 2-3 days, but for the past few weeks, I've been utterly swamped with projects and essays, as well as midterms. I also may have gotten a little sidetracked by a new Minecraft server my friend made... But if y'all are still checking in for new chapters, here it is. I hope it was worth the wait. :)

“Hey, er, dads? Can I talk to you guys?”

“Not now, Jack, Will and Grace is on,” Carl grumbled from the couch, turning up the volume with the remote.

“Carl!” Wally exclaimed indignantly, glaring at his husband.

“What?”

“Just record it, Honey,” said Wally. “We can watch it later.”

Carl grumbled a little bit, but pressed record on the remote and turned the TV off.

“Now, baby,” said Wally, patting a spot on the couch for his son, “what do you wanna talk about?”

“Well, er, remember that girl I was talking about earlier?” asked JFK, sitting down stiffly.

“Oh, yes, I do remember,” said Wally with interest. “Any luck with her?”

“Er, uh, yeah,” JFK mumbled awkwardly.

“That’s wonderful, baby!” Wally exclaimed, clapping his hands excitedly.

“Knew you could do it,” said Carl nodding approvingly.

“Er, Thanks, dads,” JFK continued grinning sheepishly. “But, er, there’s a problem.”

“Yeah?” said Wally gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, there’s this, er, uh, dance coming up,” JFK said.

“Well, you’ve asked girls to dances before, baby,” said Wally encouragingly. “I’m sure you can do it this time.”

“Dad, there’s, er, more to it,” said JFK shaking his head frustratedly.

“How so?”

“Well, I was, er, uh, going to ask her immediately when it was announced, but, er, some things happened and, er, I got us both into a detention instead.”

“Did you get this girl in trouble?” Carl piped in, raising a disapproving eyebrow.

“Er, yes,” said JFK uncomfortably, shifting his eyes to the floor. “I didn’t mean to.”

“So, she’s mad at you, right?” said Carl. “And now you can’t ask her. That’s your problem?”

“Er, no. Not exactly,” said JFK, his voice getting smaller. “ She, er, forgave me.”

“Then what’s the matter, baby?” asked Wally gently, put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Do you still feel guilty about it?”

JFK nodded, looking down at the floor.

“Just do something nice for her,” said Carl shrugging. “Take her on a date or something, and when everything’s back to normal between you, ask her to the dance.”

“If she could forgive you for getting her into detention, then I’ll bet she really cares about you. I’m sure she’d love to go to the dance with you, baby.”

“You, er, you think so?” said JFK, perking up a bit.

“Of course I do.” said Wally, putting an arm around JFK’s shoulder. “You know, I’ve never seen you get so bothered over a girl before. She must be something special. Maybe you’ll let us meet her sometime?”

JFK’s eyes widened at this, and he quickly shrugged off his father’s arm.

“Er, uh, maybe,” he mumbled ambiguously before hurrying away up the stairs. When he had gone, Wally and Carl exchanged a glance and shrugged before Carl switched the TV back on and the familiar Will and Grace theme began to play.


	26. 26

It was fourth period and you were already wishing the day could end faster. By now you’d gotten used to the side eye everyone seemed to give you and the whispering behind your back. You were slowly learning to tune it out, but time still seemed to pass at a snail’s pace whenever JFK wasn’t there to distract you. At the moment, time seemed not to be passing at all, since you’d been put in a group with Cleo to solve a set of equations. You and another girl with pink hair had been doing most of the work, while Cleo spent the time scoffing disgustedly at you and examining her neatly manicured nails.

“Hey,” you said to the pink-haired girl, holding out a sheet of your scratch work, “I think I’ve finished this one, but I’m not sure if it’s right. Maybe we could trade work to check each other?”

“Sure,” said the pink-haired girl, sliding her paper across the table to you. “I’m not so sure about mine either.”

“Hey, Cleo, would you mind helping us out and doing this problem?” you asked, pointing at one of the equations on the list.

Cleo said nothing, but glared at you, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, what’s your issue?” you asked, surprising yourself with your own directness. “Why can’t you just put it aside and do your part?”

“My issue is you,” said Cleo with a huff, taking a sip of her coffee. “You shouldn’t even be here, so there’s no way I’m gonna do anything you tell me to.”

“Why don’t you back off, Cleo?” the pink-haired girl piped in. You paused for a moment, taken-aback. No one but JFK had stood up for you before.

“Stay out of this, Joan,” said Cleo, narrowing her eyes at the pink-haired girl.

“No, Cleo,” Joan shot back. “For once in your life, why don’t you try minding your own damn business? She isn’t hurting you, so just can it.”

“Make me,” said Cleo, leaning forward aggressively.

Joan glared at her, but said nothing. Smirking, Cleo got up, grabbed a hall pass, and marched out the door, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Sorry about her,” said Joan, turning to you. “She can be a real asshole sometimes. I’m Joan, by the way. Joan of Arc.”

“I’m [y/n],” you said, quietly. “The one who doesn’t belong here.”

“That’s a load of crap,” said Joan. “You have every right to be here. Just ignore the gossip and eventually everyone will find a new person to pick on.”

“So that’s how it is, around here, huh?” you chuckled. “Some unlucky bastard has to be the idiot of the month?”

“Yeah,” said Joan, grinning a little. “It sucks, but what can you do?”

“Nothing, I guess,” you said. “Doesn’t make the time go any faster, though.”

“Don’t worry,” said Joan gently. “it gets easier. I was in your shoes once. Long story short, I accidentally ended up advertising mattresses at a school assembly, and they didn’t let me live it down for weeks.”

“How do you accidentally-”

“Don’t question it. Circumstances were weird.”

“I see,” you said. You didn’t see at all.

“So, uh, I noticed you’re JFK’s new favorite,” said Joan, raising an eyebrow and looking pointedly at the letterman jacket you were wearing.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, looking away uncomfortably. “What about it?”

“Nothing,” said Joan quickly. “It’s just, I’ve never seen him act the way he does around you. You must be something special.”

“I, um, thank you?” you said, unsure if that was the appropriate response.

“Of course,” said Joan, cheerfully.

“Ten more minutes on those equations, class! You should be about halfway through.”

“Better hurry up, I guess,” you said, grinning. “I’ll do number 6.”


	27. 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if anyone still reads this, I know it's been ages since I updated. A lot of enthusiasm for Clone High has kinda died out, and I don't think as many people are as into it as they were a few months ago, so if anyone still cares bout this fic, then thanks for coming. I'm still here, and I'm glad you are too. I know it's been a few weeks, but i'm hoping to finish this fic over winter break, so I'll try to update frequently in the coming weeks. There's a few loose ties I wanna clear up for the small semblance of plot in this fic, so those will come into play in the last few chapters. Thanks so much to anyone still checking this fic, and as usual, I always read and appreciate comments. Happy (belated) holidays, y'all <3

You were leaned up against the wall, hands in your pockets, trying hard not to make eye contact with anyone in the hall. You were surprised to find that you weren’t hearing as many people snickering at you. Maybe Joan was right, and people would just move on and find someone new to torment. Or perhaps what JFK had said was true, and people had started to lose interest in the new kid. Or maybe you were just developing a knack for tuning it out. After all, it had been incessant in the few weeks that had passed since you had come to Clone High. Maybe you were just getting used to it.

You were jolted out of your thoughts when an arm wrapped around your waist.

“There you are, Jack!” you said, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek. “What took you so long?”

“I was, er, just getting something ready,” he said excitedly. He was grinning from ear to ear, as if he had a secret that he couldn’t wait to reveal.

“So, you gonna tell me where you wanted to take me?” you asked as the two of you made your way through the thinning crowd.

“Er, uh, not yet,” he said, pulling you closer and planting a kiss on the top of your head. “Wouldn’t want to, er, spoil it.”

You were curious, but it seemed that, for once, JFK wasn’t going to spill his thoughts, so you let him lead you to his car without protest. Even after dating for several weeks, you still couldn't help but feel a few butterflies when he opened the passenger side door for you. As he turned the key in the ignition, you switched on the radio which, as usual, was tuned to Exclamation’s own local classic rock station.

“Coming up next, we’ve got some Queen for you today,” the host announced. “This here is their tribute to the 50’s, ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love.’”

You and JFK exchanged delighted glances, and he turned up the volume as the car pulled out of the school parking lot. No matter how often you heard him do it, it still made your heart go wild when you heard JFK sing, even if it was just to the radio. You tried to keep up when you could, but he had a knack for remembering all the lyrics, and even if his voice wasn’t as polished as Freddy Mercury’s, it was somehow the sweetest sound you’d ever heard.

As you drank in the sound of JFK’s voice, however, it slowly dawned on you that something odd was going on.

“Jack,” you began, talking loudly to be heard over the radio and the rushing wind, “are you… going the speed limit?”

“Yeah,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“But you never go the speed limit,” you say, laughing. “Who are you and what have you done with my Jack?”

“Well, er, I noticed you seemed nervous at first when I, er, drove too fast,” he said sheepishly. “Thought I’d slow down for once.”

“How did you know?” you asked, surprised. “What gave me away?”

“You, er, tap on the door handle when you’re nervous,” he explained as if it were obvious. You were dumbfounded. He was smarter than you gave him credit for.

“I, er, didn’t want to stress you out, especially not today,” he said, smiling sheepishly and glancing at you.

“Well, now you’ve got me really worked up,” you said, grinning. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s, er, a surprise.”

“You really aren’t gonna tell me.”

“Nope.”

“Fine then,” you said, crossing your arms in feigned annoyance. “Don’t tell me.”

JFK didn’t answer, and just smiled.

“Oh, and Jack?” you said.

“Yeah?”

“Your speeding doesn’t bother me anymore.”

JFK raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright then,” he said, grinning as he stepped on the gas.


	28. 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to all y'all who are sick of my music references,,, i actually think these songs would match JFK's retro/old-school vibes really well, but if you're getting sick of me bringing up oldies, I invite you to mentally copy paste your preferred songs in their place. Other than that, I think this is a really wholesome chapter, so I hope y'all enjoy it :)

Stepping out of JFK’s convertible, you looked around, blinking in surprise.

“Nice, eh?” he said grinning. “Thought you, er, should see some of the sights round here. It’s, er, not all suburb houses, you know.”

He had parked the car at the summit of a steep hill overlooking a stunning landscape. All around were rolling hills, and centered by them was a pasture filled with tall wildflowers and a brilliantly shimmering lake. The clearing was framed on all sides by thick forests in warm autumn colors, and if it weren’t for the hill you were perched on, you’d never have seen it there. The golden light of the afternoon lit the whole scene up like it had been plucked from a movie screen.

“Jack,” you whispered quietly, your breath taken away at the sight around you. “Jack, it’s so pretty.”

“Not, er, as pretty as you, heh,” he said teasingly, planting a quick kiss on the top of your head before hurrying to open the trunk. “Now, er we’d better hurry or we’ll miss it.”

“Miss what?” you asked, but he just winked at you and didn’t answer, instead pulling a red and white checkered quilt and a large basket from the trunk.

“You brought us a picnic?” you asked, heart already doing backflips.

“Come sit with me?” JFK said, settling down on the quilt, which he had laid out a few feet from the car. You happily obliged as he dug around in the basket and pulled out a small, handheld radio.

“What’s this for?” you said curiously, looking over his shoulder as he furiously turned the dial, tuning through the static until he found the station he was looking for. You immediately recognized it as the station that had been on in the car, E-Triple-R, Exclamation’s Rock and Roll Radio. JFK popped a bottle of coke from the basket and handed it to you as the host’s voice chimed in through the scratchy speakers.

“Next up, we’ve got something a little different for you all: a special message from one of our listeners, for another one of our listeners, and a special song dedication. This message comes from JFK over at Clone High, who writes: ‘This dedication is for [y/n], who’s changed me for good in just a few weeks. You are my music and you make my world go round. Please make me the happiest guy around, and we can twist and shout at the Fall Dance together.’”

You gasped in excitement, turning to JFK, whose whole face had gone beet red. Just as you nearly tackled him in a thrilled embrace, the host’s voice returned:

“This [y/n] sure sounds like a special girl, and dedicated to her is this next song, ‘Twist and Shout’ by the Beatles.”

You hardly heard the song begin over the pounding of your heart. Or maybe it was JFK’s, whose chest your head was buried in. He was holding you so tightly, it felt as if you had melded into one perfect, complete being.

“Jack, that was wonderful,” you said, still not letting him go. JFK chuckled, sounding both overjoyed and nervous at the same time as his arms loosened and he looked down at you.

“What’s up?” you asked, looking up at him.

“So, er, do you want to?” he asked, his cheeks still furiously flushed.

“Want to… what?” you asked, still dazed from the giddiness you were feeling.

“To, er, go to the dance with me?” he added, a bit uncertainly.

“Of course I do, Jack!” you exclaimed, gently taking his face in your hands. “I wouldn’t dream of going with anyone else!”

You watched as the most thrilled and relieved grin you’d ever seen crept across JFK’s face, until he looked as if he was about to explode with happiness. He swept you up in his arms, holding you close, and as if a magnetic force was compelling you together, his lips met yours in a kiss that sent your very soul on a beeline to cloud nine.

Holding him, here, on this hilltop, there wasn’t a single thing that could have stolen your euphoria. Not Cleo, or the nosy crowd at school, or the teachers who seemed out to get you. Everything that once was wrong was now a distant history, eclipsed by the perfection of the moment.

After a long moment of wrapping up in each other’s arms, JFK gently put a hand to the back of your head, waking you up from the trance you’d been in. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his as you both took a breath.

As you studied the intricate details of his face, the radio came drifting back to you.

“ _ Come on and twist a little closer, _

_ Let me know that you’re mine” _

“Dance with me?” JFK said quietly, taking your hand in his and putting the other on your waist. You nodded, smiling warmly at him, and allowed him to pull you up to your feet, swaying you gently to the rhythm of the rock and roll.


End file.
